100 Stories Of Thief King And Malik
by Princess Hallie
Summary: I'm going to be writing 100 Citronshipping fics for my claim at Fanfic100 over at LiveJournal, and posting them here. I hope you enjoy! Rated M just in case, for different ratings on all stories.
1. The Trouble with Triangles

**Title: **The Trouble with Triangles

**Characters:**Thief King Bakura/Malik (implied Citronshipping), Ryou

**Prompt: **042 – Triangle.

**Word Count: **502

**Rating: **PG-13, just for the innuendos...And not so innuendos.

**Summary: **Malik gets huffy after being shut down by both Bakura and Ryou.

**Author's Notes: **This is dedicated to the lovely Hanna (Sierra's Darkness on Fanfiction) for her amazing Citronshipping stories. I also apologize, because I am _so_ rusty with these characters. Forgive me! This story is nothing but a big mess.

Remember, just because he is called Bakura sometimes in my stories, he still is _Thief King Bakura_. Not the pale one, the Ancient Egyptian one with the scar and nice tan.

And I hate how Fanfiction won't put the indents in when I want to show a new paragraph. So I'm sorry if it's a bit confusing about who's speaking. For shame, Fanfiction. _For shame._

* * *

"For the last time, Malik, _no_!" 

Malik pouted uncharacteristically, crossing his arms and turning away from the white-haired man in a huff.

"You won't even try it? You close-minded _jerk_. You're just afraid you'll like it," Malik hissed, turning his head to deliver an acidy glare. The thief on the receiving end of the glower simply rolled his eyes, shaking his head and flopping down on the couch. The flaxen-haired teen, however, loomed over the other male and continued to glare.

"That's not going to scare me off. My glare is much worse, as you know, and I'm sure you will get tired of this before I do," the Thief King said off-handedly, propping his feet on the nearby table and getting himself comfortable.

After twenty minutes of glaring and sitting, Ryou walked in on the scene, almost immediately wishing he hadn't when he saw Malik's eyes glinting.

"Ryou! Come here for a second, love," The tanned teen cooed, his glare turning into an overly friendly stare instantly. Ryou, looking as though he were a deer caught in headlights, merely nodded and shuffled toward the other boy. The crook on the couch only shifted his weight and grunted, pretending not to be paying attention to the other two.

"Now, Ryou, remember what we were talking about before, hmm? Wouldn't that be fun? Go ahead; tell the dirty thief over there how fun it would be," Malik giggled, wrapping his tanned arm around the pale boy's slender frame. Ryou's face instantly flushed a bright pink, his face lowering to cover his eyes.

"I-I don't know, Malik...I...I don't think I'm really...Ready for something like that. Thank you for the offer, but I'm...Really not interested, I'm sorry," Ryou sputtered, his stumbled speech ending in a small whisper. Malik's grip tightened briefly, before he withdrew his arm from the slim boy's waist and resumed his sulking position.

"You know I'm one to gloat, so I told you so," The Thief King chuckled darkly. He crossed his arms and smirked at the two, his attention now obviously on the scene before him.

"Well, fine, you spoil sports! You're just a couple of chickens, that's all you are! I'm leaving!" And unlike Ryou, Malik's rant ended in a bellow and a slamming door. A few moments of awkward silence followed afterward, before the bolder of the two albinos finally spoke.

"You know, it's not that I _wouldn't _want to have a threesome with you and Malik, Ryou. It's just that I know Malik would be jealous if I so much as touched you, no matter what he says. He's a jealous bastard and will look for any reason at all to be a pissy little child to me," Bakura grunted, casting a glance at the other male. He saw Ryou's eyes widen and a fresh smirk crossed his features.

"I-I...I, Uhm..." Ryou's face turned an impressive shade of red before he staggered out of the house, leaving only a cackling Thief King in the wake of it all.


	2. Student or Freeloader, Which to Choose?

**Title: **Student or Freeloader, Which to Choose?

**Characters: **Thief King Bakura/Malik (Citronshipping).

**Prompt: **088 – School.

**Word Count: **362.

**Rating: **PG. (K+, maybe?)

**Summary: **Malik thinks is wise to go back to school, but Bakura has a different opinion.

**Author's Notes: **Dedicated to the wonderful Hanna (Sierra's Darkness on FanFiction).

Bah, still haven't gotten back into the characters properly. I hope the others are better. c.c Sorry again for the very low quality of writing and in-characterness.

* * *

Malik had insisted on attending school once they had settled down in Domino. Bakura, however, thought this was nearly the stupidest idea that had crawled into the younger Egyptian's head.

"What exactly do you need to go to school for, anyway? You can read and write, can you not? Besides, it's not as if you need to provide for anyone; you are and always will be a freeloader." Malik rolled his eyes at the thief's comments.

"Just because you keep stealing things for the both of us doesn't mean I'm a freeloader. You're just a nice and generous person," Malik smirked, lacing the last comment with sarcasm.

"Besides, I'm only going for one year, just to make sure I don't forget what I already know or anything. I haven't exactly been around a school before, you know; I've only ever learned what Isis taught me."

"I still think it's a ridiculous idea," Bakura retorted, the smallest hint of a pout in his voice. Malik raised an eyebrow and gave the Thief King a skeptical look.

"Don't look at me like that, you brat."

"Aww, will the poor King of Thieves miss me? Will his miss his little _Mali-chan_ cuddling with him in the morning and making his breakfast for him?" Malik cooed, feeling very cheeky and extremely bold, making fun of Bakura like he was doing. He knew he would pay for it, but he didn't want to miss the opportunity to at least have one up on the thief, even for a moment.

Unfortunately, Bakura's cool gaze returned in an instant, and he himself raised an eyebrow back to the other male.

"No. Will you?" And with that, Bakura stood from the bed both men were laying in moments before, walking quickly to the kitchen to begin making his own breakfast – for once.

Malik opened his mouth to protest, but closed it after an instant of reflection. He frowned, realizing he had once again been one-upped by Bakura. Growling in irritation, he did the only thing he could think of: yelling loud enough for his so-called lover to hear and smirk in triumph.

"...Fine! I'll take night classes, you stupid thief!"


	3. The Fetish

**Title: **The Red Fetish.

**Characters: **Thief King Bakura, Malik (slight Thief King Bakura/Malik).

**Prompt: **011 – Red.

**Word Count:** 914.

**Rating: **G (No blood or anything like that, don't worry).

**Summary: **Malik loves the colour red, as Bakura finds out first hand.

**Author's Notes: **I started and finished this late at night, so it might not make much sense. I think I'm getting better with the characters, but I'm not quite where I want to be yet. So it's not my best quality, but I tried. It's kind of long-winded and rambled, I apologize.

Also, they're all living in Domino. The Ishtars magically moved back for some reason. And Thief King's in the present time. Just go with it, all right?

**Dedication:** This is dedicated to the amazing Hanna (Sierra's Darkness on Fanfiction) for her amazing Citronshipping stories. If you haven't read them, where have you been all this time?

Also, a big thank you to Aramis-chan, for giving my first review and watch on these stories! I very much appreciate it, and I'm so happy that you've enjoyed them so far!

* * *

Malik had always loved the colour red, of any shade or hue. To him, it was warmth, it was strength; it was an unforgettable and inerasable mark on his life. Red was death, life, and everything in between.

Although he felt so strongly of the colour, he kept it a secret to the world. The only possession that he indulged himself in was his motorcycle, coloured a rich ruby. It was his escape to a world of decadence, a place no one could reach him.

He had thought nothing could make him as fulfilled and happy as the crimson colour, nothing could possibly come between him and his love of deep magentas and bright scarlets. He thought he had everything he needed with his bike, and he needed nothing more.

That is, until he met _him_.

The King of Thieves, as he had called himself, had adapted better than any had expected to the modern world, even go so far as to wear more up-to-date clothing. But the one thing he would not hang up or stuff inside of a closet for all the world was his red cloak. He had been questioned about it numerous times, but only answered with a scowl and a growled reply of, "It is none of your business what I choose to wear."

Of course, even Bakura himself didn't know exactly why he kept the old thing. The stains and minor rips were beginning to multiply as the years went on - accented by the fact the item was well over three thousand years old. Every person of the modern world told him it was better to get rid of the old thing, as it was most likely crawling with disease; he had washed it several times by hand, however, and found that unlikely. But still the people had protested to him to discard the old thing.

That is, every person except _one._

Malik had found that since the tomb robber had began living with him and his sister - as no one else would take him in on account of his accused state of insanity -, he had been staring at that old and ratty piece of cloth around the thief's shoulders more and more. He had noticed that all of the other Ancient Egyptian garments had been tossed aside and forgotten, but this marvelous spin of silk would not leave his side.

It irritated and fixated him all at once. He could not stop thinking of the cloak, and in turn continued thinking of the white-haired villain it adorned. He thought at first it was only the deep crimson cloak he was after, but a certain event had shown him otherwise.

At one point Bakura had indeed been planning to throw out the old coat and acquire a modern one, but a certain flaxen-haired boy seemed to convince him to keep, almost cherish, the item.

It had been a few weeks after he had moved in with the Ishtars that he threw the cloak upon his bed and left to find a more appropriate dress robe for his new environment. It was at that point that Malik had walked into the room, only there to pick up the thief's laundry, and noticed the apparel upon the bed. His eyes widened and his breath caught in his throat at the sight.

Abandoning his better judgment, Malik found himself stepping to the tomb robber's bed, reaching out to gently finger the softly woven fabric. Before his mind could comprehend what his hands were doing, he had picked up the cloak and wrapped it in his arms, hugging it close to his chest. He held it for a long while, closing his eyes and relishing in the moment he had been waiting for since first laying his eyes on the magnificent piece of clothing. But, little by little, Malik set the cloak down, realization dawning on him. Of course he was happy to be able to have the lovely red item so close to him, but it wasn't as amazing as he thought it would be. It was missing something for his to hold along with the veil; a certain white-haired something.

Blushing furiously, Malik tore away from his thoughts, setting the cloak back down and exiting the room as quickly as possible. What he didn't notice as he was retreating back to the laundry room, was that the aforementioned white-headed something was heading down the hallway, in the opposite direction of Malik.

Bakura came back into his room, a new cream winter coat draped across his shoulders – from a bout of thieving, no doubt. He reached toward his old tattered cloak, ready to toss it into the trash when he noticed it was in a different place on the bed than he left it. Reaching out to grab it, he noticed it was radiating warmth, and, taking in a deep breath, noticed an exotic and spicy smell that was not his, but distinctly someone. It was distinctly the smell of a boy with amazing violet eyes and golden hair. A strange look came over the thief's face; not a smirk nor frown, but something in between the two.

Without a second though Bakura took off his new cream coat and tossed it out of the window, draping his old and familiar coat around him. Yet it was new somehow; it had an air of fresh starts and new adventures waiting just ahead for both the cloak had touched.


End file.
